


Aversion Therapy

by cheshirecatstrut



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Evil Twins, F/M, Fanworks Festivus 2016, Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Threesome, Tropes, but not one that involves Duncan, or maybe not so evil?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan Echolls just moved into Duncan's suite, and Veronica's not happy. She expresses her frustration in...novel ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aversion Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghostcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/gifts).



> Happy birthday-in-a-few-weeks to Ghostcat, fiendish purveyor of trippy cat videos and all-around amazing person. It's so cool that you've turned your own celebration challenge into a free-for-all Gift-To-Many-Fandoms!!

Veronica can’t sleep. She’s rigid with rage. How dare Logan impersonate Duncan, then mock her at her lowest moment? How dare he pretend to be a safe, warm place to rest, then turn out to be… self-destructive, verbally eviscerating, constantly-trouble-making HIM?

Duncan doesn’t get why Logan’s presence is a big deal. Duncan doesn’t see this indefinite roommate gig as the cock-block it CLEARLY is. And Duncan’s out in the living room playing video games, after telling her she’s over-emotional and tired. He sent her in here to SLEEP.

A lifetime of being Neptune’s greatest catch has left Duncan sublimely unconcerned about the charms of other guys.

Veronica thrashes for an hour and a half, wallowing in fully-justified fury, before she finally decides only one thing will help. One thing Duncan seems incapable of giving, although she never plans to tell him.

She creeps to the door, presses her ear to wood; the laughter and video games continue, unabated. Soundlessly, she turns the lock. Digs through her overnight bag for the plain black break-in-case-of-frustration box she usually unpacks in the bathroom, after. Then claims it’s a Water Pik, to explain the noise.

Duncan always accepts this, unquestioning. Turns out he’s a strong proponent of meticulous oral hygiene.

Vibrator in hand, she returns to bed; jerks the covers over her head, and imagines as hard as she can that life is peachy.

_Her subconscious deposits her in a luxury hotel, but not the one where she’s currently…occupied. THIS bed is big and round, taking up half the floor; the palm-shaped leaves of the ceiling fan swish, indolent, above it. The blankets she’s twined in are mussed, and she’s nude. Across from her, an all-glass wall frames a white sand beach. Two chairs and an umbrella are placed just so, like it’s a travel ad; beyond them, there’s blue sky, blue ocean, and not a single person._

Nice, Veronica thinks, exploring her responses gently, speed set to low. THIS is what she’s needed all afternoon. A relaxing imaginary getaway with the man of her dreams, featuring a happy ending. And ZERO annoying, unplanned, argyle-clad interruptions.

_She grins as her wonderful boyfriend sits up behind her, gently massaging her shoulders. “Mmmm,” she purrs. “I’m in heaven. You have no IDEA how desperate I’ve been for a vacation.”_

_He presses his lips to her shoulder in response…kisses up the side of her neck. She sighs, smiling. And that’s when she sees Logan, leaning against the porch rail, just past the open sliding-glass door. Arms crossed, cynical smirk in place. Watching the show._

What? NO!

Veronica freezes, jerking the vibrator away from skin when a thrill of sensation makes her shiver. Logan is NOT invading this fantasy, no WAY. Not when he’s personally responsible for her current mood, as well as her general disappointment with Duncan’s…abilities. All the self-help articles say visualizing great sex makes your real relationship hotter; Veronica’s sure this will prove true, if she just visualizes harder.

Unless….

Suppose she used this scenario as a kind of…aversion therapy? What if she got herself off while explaining to Logan why he’ll NEVER end up in her bed? Wouldn’t that just STRENGTHEN her resolve to avoid him? Like Pavlov’s dog, but in reverse?

Veronica decides this is valid, clicks the speed up a notch, and commences imagining the fight with a vengeance.

_She gasps and grabs the nearest blanket, covering herself. “You are just ASKING to get arrested, aren’t you, Logan? You need to turn around and LEAVE. I am fully, happily occupied with someone who’s GLAD to be a normal boyfriend, and NEITHER of us wants you here.”_

_Her oblivious lover keeps kissing, and Logan cracks a laugh. “HE doesn’t seem bothered,” the asshole says, sardonic. “Why should YOU be? Just drop the blanket and enjoy tormenting me, Veronica. You know I’ve seen it all, anyway. Seen it, touched it, put my mouth on it, made you come. You can pretend to be ‘nice’ as much as you want, for the benefit of the world at large. But you and I know the truth. You’re BENT.”_

_He uncoils and stalks forward, smiling in that smug way that both enrages and arouses. “In fact, you’re BEYOND kinky, Veronica Mars. We’re evenly matched. And everyone knows what a dyed-in-the-wool pervert I turned out to be.”_

_“Don’t listen to him, muffin,” her boyfriend says from behind, nipping her ear. She smirks at Logan, because SEE? SOMEBODY understands her preference for pet names and white hats. She turns and rewards him with a kiss, plumbing deep. His hands slide down her arms, twine with hers; the sleek of his tongue, the rub and stretch of muscles against skin, makes her wet. He licks the hollow of her throat. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”_

_She pulls back to smile approval, and HE’S Logan too, sleep-mussed and tender. Dressed in that dorky shark’s tooth he’s taken to wearing, but nothing else. He kisses the tip of her nose, winks, and leans forward to press his lips to hers._

Oh COME ON! God, this is worse than before! Logan Echolls does NOT get to play the role of Perfect Imaginary Lover! Everybody KNOWS Logan Echolls is the Dangerous Bad Boy Who Always Leaves. Jesus, if her subconscious doesn’t get it together soon, she’s going to have to bite the bullet and consider THERAPY.

Veronica realizes she’s still messing with the vibrator, penetrating in shallow thrusts, swirling it around her clit. She knows she really ought to quit, take a bracing cold shower. But this feels good, SO good. It’s been weeks since she’s had time to unwind. Some really excellent sensations are massing and gathering, down there, and it would be a shame to let them go to WASTE…

Besides, it’s just a dumb fantasy, right? It doesn’t MEAN anything. If she goes ahead and comes imagining Bad Boy Logan, the way she has a million times before, it’s not like Duncan or anyone ELSE will ever KNOW.

Veronica pushes the vibrator deep, so it feels like she imagines Logan would. Then resolutely increases the speed.

_Kissing becomes heated—for a supposed Nice Guy, Good Logan sure has moves—and Veronica melts into it. Sighs her pleasure as his hands wander, seeking out her most sensitive spots. He’s so gentle but so intense…like he was that night in the XTerra, when things went a little too far. The night he took off her underpants and stuck them in his pocket, then grinned that naughty grin…_

_Behind her, Bad Logan says, “Poor bastard’s got no clue how much pain’s in store, once the afterglow fades. How ‘bout we give him something spectacular to remember you by? Something he can jerk off to when he’s cold and alone, with nothing left to hold but mini-bar booze?”_

_She feels the bed dip as he climbs up behind her. Shivers, shoulders tensing, but doesn’t turn around. Bad Logan nuzzles behind her ear, trails a finger down her spine. “Ready?” he asks, and she breaks out in gooseflesh._

_She’s not sure she’s ever BEEN this ready._

A knock at the door interrupts her, right before she comes.

“Veronica?” Duncan calls, and she jerks to a halt, trembling and panting; she’s so turned on now, it takes her a minute to orient. “Veronica, can you let me in? I just drank three beers, and I really need to use the bathroom.”

FUCK him, Veronica thinks, thumb toying with the vibrator’s base. If he loves LOGAN so much tonight, he can use LOGAN’S bathroom. Veronica’s busy, right this very moment. And she’s not the LEAST bit willing to interact with stupid DONUT.

“Trouble in paradise?” Logan taunts, barely audible above the sound of canned shooting. “I TOLD you so, man. Expecting girls to sleep it off is ALWAYS a mistake.”

“Dude, Veronica’s FINE. She’s mature and calm, these days. Probably she just crashed, and can’t even hear me knocking.”

Logan snorts, but offers no other response. Duncan, recognizing futility when it smacks him in the face, moves slowly away towards the available toilet.

STUPID Logan Echolls, presuming to psychoanalyze! He needs a few facts EXPLAINED, Veronica decides. Someone should make him realize he’s NOT the world’s leading Veronica Mars Expert; he has NO CLUE what she REALLY wants.

She switches the vibrator back on.

_“I came here with my BOYFRIEND,” she tells Bad Boy Dream Logan; but she FOCUSES on the nice version, tracing his winged brows with her thumbs. “HE’S the one I want. I like SWEET guys who CARE. I prefer tenderness and ROMANCE.”_

_“You can have both,” Good Logan says, flashing the rare, shy smile that never fails to slay her. “Whatever you need. You know I’ll always be gentle with you, Veronica. I’ll always take my time.”_

_“Of course,” she says--she DOES know--and kisses him. Pushes him onto his back. “And because of that, for YOU? The time is now.”_

_She begins to ride Good Logan, sliding against him the way she used to in his car, in the darkest corner of the Neptune High lot, that last hour before curfew. He never tried to push inside her, though they both craved the sensation. He always warned her before he came._

_He’s got his head thrown back now, cords in his neck standing out, eyes half-slitted with lust as he watches her move. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, stroking his palms down over her breasts. “I love to watch you get off on me.”_

_“’Cause you’re a sap,” Bad Logan says, from behind. She feels cool, slippery, liquid trickle down her tailbone, and he strokes two fingers through it, taunting. Pausing at the crest of her ass. Making her wait. “You don’t realize it yet, but she thinks of you as a fuck toy. Good enough to mess around with in private, but by no means measuring up to Golden Duncan Kane. Well, except in this department. She definitely doesn’t come, when DUNCAN’S the one in the bed.”_

Oh God, she thinks, vibrator slipping at the apex of each thrust--she’s so incredibly wet. She shouldn’t be imagining this. I mean these aren’t even things she actually DOES, in bed, but JESUS….

Veronica brings her other hand into play, rubbing furiously at her clit. Yeah, aversion therapy for the win. She’s almost in flames.

_“Dude, I LOVE her,” Good Logan protests. He curls one palm around her face, smiling, while his other hand slides downward. His thumb circles her clit, feather-light; her head falls back on Bad Logan’s shoulder as she thrills to his touch. “I’m willing to wait until she’s ready to commit. She has trouble saying the words…and who can blame her, after the shit you pulled? But I know, I KNOW, she loves me too.”_

_“Mmmm,” Bad Logan says, caressing with both voice and fingers. And while Veronica realizes she shouldn’t let him, he makes it feel so goddamn GOOD. “I love her just as much, but NOBODY gets a free pass. Cross me and pay, that’s the rule I live by. Veronica understands, because she’s exactly the fucking same.”_

_“Kiss me, Veronica,” Good Logan says, as pleasure spreads and gathers. “Kiss me while you come. You don’t have to say a thing.”_

_She leans forwards, seals her mouth to his; he devours her, gripping her upper arms, as she gasps and loses herself. She tears her lips away, lets out a shuddering sigh…_

_And Bad Logan lifts her hips to align with his, then plunges deep into her drenched and clenching sex._

Veronica comes hard, contracting around the vibrator, the light behind her closed lids flashing white. She needs to stop NOW, she thinks, with what brain function she retains. This is a COMPLETELY un-wholesome fantasy. She’s losing control of the thread, and if it didn’t feel so amazing, she…

Enh, fuck it. She hasn’t enjoyed anything this much since a week before Logan broke that stupid lamp, and she WANTS to. She DESERVES to. She’ll combust if she doesn’t.

Veronica switches the vibrator to high, and keeps right on going.

_“Oh Jesus Christ,” Bad Logan says, as he moves with trademark graceful athleticism; she owns him now that she’s let him in, just like she always suspected she would. “Oh God, you feel even better than I imagined. But you REALIZED it would be phenomenal, didn’t you? You knew we’d both end up addicted, if you even once let me. It’s why you DIDN’T. This is the kind of sex that ruins lives; right now, anything I asked, you’d give. If I wanted to, Veronica? I could suck you under into some dark place, where ANY vice was allowed, and YOU would fucking WALLOW.”_

_“The waiting makes it better,” Good Logan says, surging up on his elbows to kiss her mouth. “I know that sex between us will happen because we love each other. Like the sealing of a pact… we’re in it for the long haul.”_

_“Oh, you think what she’s doing with Duncan is LOVE?” Bad Logan asks, nipping the nape of her neck, making her moan. His hand slides between her legs. He taunts her with his touch, stroking everywhere but the spot she needs him most. “Dude. Love is SO much less important to this girl than security. Love is like number ten on the list. And YOUR needs don’t even make the CUT.”_

_“I care about his needs!” Veronica says, angered by the look of hurt in Good Logan’s eyes. “I can’t date him right now, because of YOUR push to self-destruct, but I DEFINITELY care!”_

_“Then why won’t you finish him off?” Bad Logan asks, panting behind her as he increases his pace. His index finger slides over her clit, away; an orgasm more cataclysmic than she’s ever felt gathers, just beyond reach. “Why is it all about YOU coming, while HE goes home unsatisfied?”_

_She turns to Good Logan. He smiles reassuringly, but his face is flushed, and he’s painfully hard, still. Her hand curls around his dick. He groans, mouth falling open, and closes his eyes._

_Veronica looks over her shoulder at Bad Logan, who smirks. She flashes her most taunting, angry, feral grin. Then presses back against him hard with her hips, making him gasp…and leans forward to take Good Logan in her mouth._

_Her boyfriend shouts as lips close around the head, because it’s unprecedented…she’s never gone there, though she’s secretly, frequently, imagined it. His harsh breaths speed up, and Bad Logan laughs. “Hum,” he suggests, insinuating. “While you suck. Tuck your teeth behind your lips. Look at him, he’s putty in your hands. He’d LOVE to return the favor. He’d BEG.”_

_She follows his instructions, ardent, and with an “OhGodohGodohGod, Veronica!” Good Logan comes in her mouth._

_“Nice,” Bad Logan says, watching Good Logan gasp endearments, while Veronica wipes her lips. “Next time, we’ll sixty-nine. I’ll lick you ‘til you beg, while you try that trick on ME.”_

_“Who says there’ll be a next time?” she asks, and he laughs against her ear. Does a swivel-thrust and clit pinch that makes her gasp and moan, then repeats it. Bites her lobe. Licks the shell._

_“I say,” Bad Logan whispers, fucking even deeper, and this time, the contractions won’t stop._

Veronica comes harder than she ever has, in a series of hungry shivers. She pulls out the vibrator, overstimulated now, and lets it drop to the floor. Drifts, in a lust-drugged stupor, while the fantasy continues undirected.

_“Logan…” she purrs, as she recovers, and she’s not even sure which one of them she means. She collapses on top of Good Logan. Bad Logan, still pulsing inside her, strokes her spine._

_“You’re amazing,” Good Logan says, fingers sliding through her hair. “Look at you. So beautiful and responsive. So perfect.”_

_“I’m not sure I can move,” she says, and Bad Logan says, “See what you’ve been missing? You chose SO wrong, when you picked Duncan. You could have had this, every day. The sap AND me. All your favorite kinds of poison.”_

_“You didn’t love me enough to stop endangering yourself,” she protests. “Your war was more important to you than what we had!”_

_“I didn’t LOVE you enough?” Bad Logan asks. His voice sounds ragged, almost a growl, like he’s nearing his limit. He tugs her off Good Logan and back against him, then slowly, torturously, resumes fucking her. “Are you KIDDING me? I love you a hundred times more than I will EVER love myself. But NOTHING satisfies Veronica Mars. Not my cock, not my heart, not my life, laid on the line. It’s all about the perfect past you’re trying to recreate, a past that didn’t even HAPPEN.”_

_His hips are jerking against her now, thrusts in time with his words. With a shuddering grunt, he spills-- lust and heat bloom through her belly. He sags for a moment, recovering; then moans and pulls away. Climbs off the bed._

_Bad Logan stares at her for a minute, inscrutable, naked and arms folded. Turns his back, walks over to the glass. “I could have been yours, at any point since seventh grade,” he says, gazing out the window. “All you had to do was stop preferring the fantasy, and notice the actual love you’d already earned.”_

_She glances at Good Logan for confirmation, and he nods, sitting up. “It’s true,” he says, caressing. “I’ve cared since the beginning, Veronica. I always will.”_

_“I love you,” she admits, and hugs him. “I know you don’t need me to say it, but I will anyway.”_

_He kisses her forehead, between the eyes. “Of COURSE you do,” he says. And disappears._

_She climbs off the bed and walks to Bad Logan, who’s got one palm pressed flat against the glass. He’s staring out at the ocean, nude and glorious, unashamed though anyone might see. She wraps her arms around his waist, presses her cheek to his spine. “As for YOU…”_

_“Me,” he echoes. “The unclean. Thanks for the pity fuck, it was better than my most optimistic projection. Enjoy your high-thread count Kane sheets, while you slowly suffocate from neglect.”_

_“Why should I enjoy his?” She asks. “When I can enjoy YOURS? You live in a dual suite; it’s the exact same bed.”_

_“What are you saying, Veronica?” He turns in her arms. Looks down at her with his dark unfathomable eyes, so much harder to read than those of everyone else she knows._

_“Maybe,” she confesses, “I was never meant to be good.”_

_The corner of his mouth curls. His hand curves around her hip. “Then we should clean you up for another round,” he says. “There are SO MANY perversions I’m ready and eager to try.”_

_He lifts and spins her, pressing her against the glass; exposed to the world as his lover, wholly open to his touch. Smirks down at her, smug and insufferable. Slowly sinks to his knees._

Shit, Veronica thinks, rousing briefly from her post-climactic doze. There aren’t enough rationalizations in the world to explain away THIS fantasy.

XXXXX

Exhausted by numerous orgasms and assorted emotional flailings, Veronica falls asleep. When she wakes, the clock reads three AM. She can hear Duncan snoring, through the locked door and across the suite, and she recoils from the noise. His scent in the room around her, his disinterest in cuddling, the way he hogs the blankets, all suddenly repel. He really doesn’t CARE, does he, about her feelings or her pleasure? Or, in a nutshell, HER.

She needs to quit superimposing the past on the present. Duncan Kane’s not the teen heartthrob she once admired from afar. Maybe he never was.

Veronica gets up, tidies, cleans and re-stashes the vibrator. Then goes out into the living room for a drink of water. Where she stumbles across the real Logan, still very much awake, stripped of his fantasy sheen.

The genuine article smells like booze, and faintly, smoke. He’s clutching a bottle of vodka, from which he’s currently chugging, and vacantly watching ‘The Munsters’. His face hangs in lines of profoundly disillusioned sadness; no one can see, so no need to wear a mask. The speech he gave in her dream echoes, and she comes to a decision.

“Hey,” she says, moving into view. Crosses her arms, shy in her thin robe after recent…imaginings. He just gestures with his chin in acknowledgement, though, and turns back to the TV.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, toasting her with the bottle, then takes yet another drink. “Common affliction this evening. I’d chew you out for relegating Duncan to my brand-new bed--but it seems, at this point, like I’m not going to need it.”

“Sorry,” she says, with zero sincerity, which makes him smirk. She sits beside him on the couch, tucking her feet and robe up under. “Duncan pissed me off tonight, and I was already in a mood.”

“I noticed.” His smirk grows more pronounced. “You seem REALLY relaxed now, though. Guess sleep DOES mend the raveled sleeve of care.”

She sighs. “You know what I was doing in there, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” His smirk tips over into a lurking smile, and he favors her with a brief glance. “We heard the buzzing. Duncan maintains you’re just zealous with your Water Pik; but even HE doesn’t spend that much time cleaning his teeth.”

Logan turns back to his show, making no further effort at mockery. This gives her courage to admit, “I had a truly awful day.”

“Tell me about it,” he mutters. “I’d beg to borrow your mood enhancer, but it’s not designed to suit my preferences.”

“I’m sorry about your house,” she says, choosing to ignore this, which draws his full, slightly startled attention. “Weevil, right? Getting even for some perceived slight, in your insane game of ‘Let’s Up the Stakes’?”

“Weevil,” he confirms, smoothly shifting subjects. “The guy does NOT know when to quit.”

“Well your dad’s shrines to himself are no great loss,” she says—he huffs a faint laugh. “But I’m sorry possessions you cared about burned.”

“Enh. Grand arson’s small potatoes, compared to a looming prison sentence.” He slumps lower on the cushions, his tone fatalistic. “Just one more shitty rose in the overflowing Echolls garden.”

“I think the bus crash was my fault,” she admits. She doesn’t know why. Maybe she feels Logan would understand, and not chide her like she’s five, the way Duncan does. “I think I’M the reason those poor people died.”

He turns to study her, so she manages to hold back tears. “Why?” He asks. Only that. No condescension, no evasion of a difficult topic. No attempt to re-focus the conversation on himself. Just a plain-spoken request for facts.

So she tells him. She details everything. The results of her investigations, her creeping sense of horror, the fear that this time, the guilty won’t pay.

It takes the better part of an hour, during which he listens (mostly) silently. And when she’s done, all he asks is, “Do you want me to help you learn the truth?”

She nods, and he says, “Then I will.” Turns back to the TV once again, like they’re finished discussing taxes.

Because that’s the thing about Logan Echolls. His words are often shitty; but his deeds, in service of friends, carry the weight of serene conviction.

“And I’ll help you clear your name,” she tells him, not to be outdone. “Because when you swore you didn’t kill Felix, I said I believed you. Remember?”

He turns off the TV once more, tosses the remote on the coffee table. “Under duress,” he says. “But yeah.”

“Ipso facto….” She shrugs. “That means someone ELSE is guilty. And it’s not like I’ll be able to rest until I find out who.”

“So you’re rescuing me for the thrill?” he asks, that lurking smile returning. “Fair enough. You seem to be ALL ABOUT thrills this evening, and it’s not like I’ll complain.”

She makes a face at him and he cracks a laugh, tilting sideways into the couch. Stares at her, gaze more tender than it’s been in months, and also more uncomfortably unwavering.

“I could still use that hug,” she ventures, clutching the robe’s lapels tighter. “The one I ran from, earlier, because I was mad. Turns out the idea’s maybe…not as repellent as I let on.”

“Color me amazed,” he murmurs, and pulls her into his arms.

She falls asleep on Logan’s shoulder, safe and warm; he strokes her hair, asking nothing in return. Because that’s also Logan Echolls, at his most basic level. He gives because he LIKES to--he’s never that guy secretly keeping score.

In the morning, when she wakes, he’s gone. But he’s put a pillow under her head, a blanket over her legs… and there’s a glass of ice water on the coffee table, beside a crisply folded newspaper.

She sits up and drinks, blinking back the bright morning sun that seeps through the blinds. Somehow, things seem less heavy and unfixable than they did the night before.

Maybe, she thinks, aversion therapy worked in reverse. Maybe Bad Logan’s been the fantasy-flavored illusion all along, just like she’s beginning to think Nice Duncan is.

Maybe tender-but-sexy Good Logan is the one out of three who’s secretly real.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to silverlining2k6 for the idea-inspiring convo; also to CMackenzie for brainstorming and beta help. Both of you ladies are just generally badass.


End file.
